Same Same, Different Different

Are they twins?



It gets asked a lot when we are out. James is really only a few inches shorter than his sister, and when they're sitting down it's actually hard to tell that she's longer and more gangly than he is.




They're alike in so many ways, that I kind of think they are de facto twins . . .

But then sometimes they are so different it's like they are little opposites of each other.


Maddie likes her cereal dry. Always.

James likes his with milk and a spoon. All is right with his world if he has cereal, milk, and spoon.


Maddie loves grape juice.

James loves orange juice.

Maddie will occasionally sample the orange juice but she says it's "too spice" and screws up her face in a horrifically comical manner. "Too spice" from the child that eats pickles for breakfast. Meanwhile, James will chug limeade straight. Go figure. He prefers the citrus based juices I guess.


Maddie prefers Little Einsteins

James prefers Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

This causes fights.


Madie loves to snuggle under blankets.

James hates sleeping with a blanket over him with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns.


Maddie's snacks on raw celery. James, not so much.

James snacks on raw brocolli. Maddie is horrified by this.


Luckily, in spite of their differences, they still love each other.


(blanket was for story time purposes only, after which it was kicked off)

Nothing Says NaNoWriMo Like Moving House

I'm super committed to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this year. I fizzled last year, having written something sad and pitiful like 4,615 words of Awake (quality, not quantity, people!) but I have redeemed myself by actually finishing the sucker once we moved here to Montana.

So, guess what I am doing November 1st? Kicking off NaNoWriMo here and on Indie Jane . . . aaaaand MOVING! Yes!

We are moving from our condo to a house. Still renting, but the exciting things are:


a) it's cheaper . . . mind-blowing.
b) it's bigger, although same number of bedrooms and only one bath, the downstairs is bigger than our whole condo.
c) it's got a yard, and that yard is FENCED.
d) we can paint the walls . . . pause for happy dance.

The cons are:

a) it's a WHOLE LOTTA work to move.

So wish me luck as I'm writing, editing, and packing like a mad woman this coming month. Only to be writing and unpacking like a mad woman in November! Yay!

Broccoli

This is how James spends our shopping trips.

He picks it out himself from the produce section.

It's not exactly clean, but far be it from me to stop him.

If I did he'd just throw a tantrum and fish it out of the bag when I'm not looking.



Occasionally people stop us and ask me how I get him to eat it.

I dunno. He just likes it.

But really, I think it should earn me some kind of parenting award.

However, unless you think I'm super granola mummy who magically convinces her children to only eat good, wholesome things . . .

I present to you . . .




Rocky Road cake pops.



Yum.

Balance is important in life, I think.

100 Days

There are only 100 days left until Christmas. Less if you're on the other side of the world.

Don't believe me? Check out the Christmas Countdown Clock.

Cause you know, we all need more stress in our lives - countdown clocks really ratchet up that old spazz level. You can sit there and watch it tick down. Freaky.

In twelve hours from this writing, there will be only 99 days left . . . double digits! Omg.

Pause for freakout.

I am unprepared.

Extremely unprepared.

For a lot of things actually . . . not just the 100 days until Christmas (lists? sewing? what?)

Slightly less than a month and half after that lovely little Christmas Countdown Clock hits zero and resets to 355 (actually my favorite part) I will be releasing my first novel into the wild.

Pause for slightly larger freakout.

Maybe I should create a countdown for that . . . just to see how high my blood pressure can get as I watch it tick down. It would be like a medical experiment!

There are also less than 7 weeks to the start of November, which means NaNoWriMo!
Planning, outlining, deciding how the darn thing ends?
Sure. Whatevs.

Not pausing for a freakout here because I am in d-e-n-i-a-l.

It's September. I now live in Montana. It could snow any day. Fall is like the blink of an eye here, at least that is what they tell me.

Pause for huge, out of control, I-have-no-winter-clothes-and-wear-flip-flops-everyday freakout.

But enough about me . . . and the celebration of the Christ Child's birth . . .

The biggest, most important countdown clock is this:

There are only 13 regular games left in my team's regular baseball season!

Thirteen.

Mind blown.
Whatever am I going to do with myself after the season is over?
Maybe, you know, finish editing that novel, sew those Christmas presents, buy some real shoes, or curl up in a ball and cry until spring training.
It's really a toss up.

Meanwhile, we are 3 back in the division race and starting to make some noise in the very intriguing wild card race . . . so GO ANGELS!
The rest of it can wait.

At least for another 13 games or so.



(gratuitous cute kid picture with Angels tie in. Um, yes, he's restrained with a jump rope, he seems ok with it, my kids are weird.)

Because I am Insane

I am really looking forward to this year's NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. My plan is to work on my Austenesque novel Attempting Elizabeth which I am expanding from the short story I wrote last year. I am currently doing some serious actual planning and plotting for it, which is so unlike me.

But here is the thing. I've been editing for weeks. And now I am planning something I won't be actually writing until November. That's eight weeks away! What is a girl to do? A girl who is itching to get some real, actual writing in?

Apparently what I am doing is writing a completely different novel! Yes sirree Bob! This week I started the sequel to Awake. Don't worry, they are stand-alone, you will definitely get a resolution to Awake . . . no waiting for months for the next book to come out after being left dangling off a huge plot-precipice. I hate that.

So, what is it about? I can't tell you much other than that it is a redux of Beauty and the Beast. Love! It's been done a lot. It's been done really well (especially well by Robin McKinley, not once but twice for goodness sake!), but I am hopeful that my story will add something new and fun to the grand tradition of La Belle et La Bête.

That may be aiming a bit high, let's just say I hope it's really fun to read!

So, I write my booty off until NaNoWriMo and then I guess I take a break from Beauty and work on Austen . . . OR I could finish Beauty and the Beast before then . . . it only means writing 11,250 words a week.

No problem.

Cough.

I would love to finish the rough draft by November first. It would be brilliant. But I am not going to throw myself off a cliff if I don't. After all, I'm only 7,000 words in. I'm having fun though!

While I can't tell you anything about my plot (hint: there is a beauty in it . . . and maybe a beast), I can share with you these amazing photos! Did you know that Drew Barrymore did a Beauty and the Beast spread a few years ago for Vanity Fair? I am dying over these dresses. Aren't they so pretty? You really must see them all!

Dear Jane Pen Pal Project

I have been so swamped recently with all the awesome, cool, exciting stuff I have some how managed to get myself involved in. As it turns out, there are only 24 hours in the day, and a significant portion of those are required for sleep if you want to be at all functional.
Whose idea was that?

One of the super rad projects I am working on is the Dear Jane Pen Pal Program over on my site Indie Jane. We are connecting Austen fans and readers all over the world and reviving the lost art of letter writing. Sign ups are running through 9/15 so there is still time to be a part. I would love for some of my blog readers to join us! It doesn't matter what level of Austen-fan you are, if you love literature and letter writing (or want to love letter writing) please join us!

Image provided by Simon Howden / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

My Issue with Journals

I have issues with journals. Don't get me wrong. I want to be a journal writer. I love those gorgeous leather bound journals. I gaze at them longingly in the book store and think of all the wonderful things other people could write in them. But I am scared. Literally paralyzed by my own fears . . . I have huge, huge issues with writing in them myself. They are so pretty so I want everything I write to be perfect. I cannot handle mistakes. This is why I write in pencil (because it has an eraser) and in word processors. Just the thought of it not being perfect makes me want to never start. I call it avoidance perfectionism. If I don't ever actually DO it, then the concept of it can remain perfect in my mind.

Perfectly undone.

This probably sounds totally weird to most people. But I know there are others like me out there. It spills out into other parts of my life, it's not just journals, but they are a really prime example of it. Case in point. My husband gave me a gorgeous wood covered journal for my twenty-seventh birthday and I haven't written in it yet. I am thirty-two.

There's actually a book for people like me. A "journal" that gives you instructions about how to dirty it up. Do this with that page, crumple up and throw this page away, etc. The problem here is that I would literally get so caught up in following the instructions perfectly that it would completely defeat the purpose of the darn book.

Completely. Defeat.

I got another journal for my birthday this year. The cover is a gorgeous deep brown leather with beautiful flowers. There's a lovely inscription in it. It's from a woman here in our new town, the wife of my husband's coworker. She threw me a surprise birthday party. She has no idea about my avoidance perfectionism because I really do come off as a normal person. It is so pretty I don't want to unpretty it.

I've had it for almost two months.



Enough is enough.

I gave myself permission to unpretty this journal.

I got supplies. Including PENS.



I put pictures in the front. I didn't worry about the fact that my kids tore the picture of Maddie (so sad, I only have one untorn one left), I just tore the others to match.



I wrote in it.

On several pages.

I'm going to try to write in it more tomorrow. And more the next day. I might skip a day . . . I don't know. The point is I can skip and still come back to it. I can jump around. It doesn't have to be orderly or perfect. It just has to be used. This journal was made to be written in.

And once I've filled this one up, I'll start on my wooden journal.

I refuse to maintain a false perfection by just avoiding. I have to embrace the imperfection.